


Break From The Investigation

by DayDragon



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Caretaking, Fluff, Gen, Head Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Layton's Foundlings, Other, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:49:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25666207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayDragon/pseuds/DayDragon
Summary: Emmy suffers a head injury and spends time healing at the Layton home between the events of Miracle Mask and Azran Legacy.Implied Azran Legacy spoilers. Includes mentions of blood and violence, as well as vivid depictions of concussion symptoms.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	1. Fall

"Emmy!"

Luke's voice echoed painfully in her head, watching him reach out for her. Time had slowed down, an instant seeming endless. Just a moment before, her foot had met that Targent thug's face. An eyeblink before that, his brick the side of her head.

Everything stopped when she hit the ground. A spike shot up into her head, flashing yellow and red in her vision. A heartbeat later, everything was gone.

"Do you think you can do that, Luke? It's vital."

Somewhere, the professor's familiar voice came drifting over. Emmy vaguely observed it. He sounded worried, almost panicked. The pain slowly snuck up on her, trickling in until she couldn't ignore it. Soon enough it was unbearable, shredding any hope of returning to unconsciousness.

When the young woman opened her eyes, everything was a big blur for a while. She was laying, looking up, with her head in someone's arms... When she managed to look up further, she spotted Luke's worried face. He seemed unharmed, but from his expression, something was very, very wrong. Emmy frowned, trying to lift a hand to comfort the boy. Her hand didn't listen, but her voice did.

"You okay?" she murmured, the pain making everything a blur.

"Emmy! Emmy, you're awake!" Luke's face lit up with a smile, though soon faded back into worry. She continued to study his face, the rest becoming less and less important. She couldn't take her eyes away from his, the hazel showing a bright grey in this light. Somewhere, she could hear him and the professor discussing things in a panic, but it slid off her mind like oil on ice, leaving no recognition or acknowledgement.

The seat began to move with a roar. Emmy cried out, a wall of pain ramming into her when the car started to move. "Sorry, Emmy, but it's the only way," It sounded like Layton was trying to calm her, but without much success. The Laytonmobile- somewhere she had realised that that was where they were- took off, driving unusually fast.

"Only way...?" Emmy tried to lift her head, only to find her head and shoulders tightly locked in position by Luke's hands. "No, Emmy, you shouldn't move!"

She wanted to ask why not. Why was everything like this? Why were they so panicked? The pain made her close her mouth, racking up nausea, and everything faded into a blur.

"Enough," Emmy growled, swatting away the intruding hand, her eyes shooting open. "You poked and prodded enough yet?!" Over the last... however long it had been, all she remembered was one big blur of doctors, nurses, tests, asking them her name way too many times, and way too much movement and excitement. Finally, they had left her alone for a while, letting her close her eyes, but something had rudely interrupted that. Her head didn't hurt any more, thanks to whatever they'd given her. In the place of the pain was fuzz. Wool packed uncomfortably tight.

The hand that was quickly retreating caught her eye. Big, a large palm, with surprisingly calloused thumb, index- and middle finger from countless hours of holding fine hooks, scrapers and other tools. An orange sleeve framed it, rustling softly.  
She recognized it in an instant.

"So sorry," the professor's voice sheared through the packed wool in her head. "You were resting so soundly, I didn't mean to wake you." When she sat up to follow his hand with her gaze, he was smiling at her. They were in her hospital room, the sky outside slowly darkening to pinks and purples. The window was open, letting the crisp spring air in.

Emmy growled, putting a hand on her head. "I wasn't asleep," she grumbled, trying to gather her bearings. "Are all of you alright?" Her eyes slowly drifted from his hands to his shoulders, back and forth, finally settling on the brim of his hat, idly observing the light play with the felt. It looked very fluffy and soft, some of the very thin hairs catching the light and glowing like the fur on a cat sitting in the sun.

"-Emmy?" With a shock, she realised Layton had already answered her. "Oh!" Emmy blinked hard, trying to focus. "Sorry, I drifted. What did you say?"

Layton shifted his weight in the chair, looking at her with some concern. "I was saying that we're both fine, thanks to you. Luke was fretting, so I left him in conversation with an emotional support dog in the garden. He really didn't want to leave you, but he needed to cool down."

"... he was there when I woke up..." Emmy closed her eyes, trying to collect her thoughts. "He was holding me." Her memories were barely more than flashes, not enough to make a sensible story.

"He was." Layton provided, "We drove off, and I told him to keep you as steady as he could. I would've rather not lifted you at all, but the situation demanded it. Thankfully your neck isn't hurt much."

"No, but my head is," Emmy growled back, sitting back against the headrest. "One big mush. ...Been here before."

"What do you mean?" Layton's curiosity was piqued. "In the hospital?"

"Concussed," Emmy sighed, closing her eyes. Red and yellow flashes danced in front of them for a moment. "... Sorry, Professor."

"Whatever for?" his voice drifted into the wool, vaguely getting registered.

"I'm bothering the investigation..." Emmy returned from far away.

"Don't worry about that," Layton assured, tucking her in. "Rest, at least a bit."

Everything went quiet, the wool painfully pounding with every heartbeat. Emmy listened to the drumming in her head, somewhere between sleep and waking, finally able to rest a while.


	2. Scramble

Emmy slowly drifted awake, her keen senses warning her of footsteps outside her door. Even now, the many years of training were keeping her sharp... or, sharp enough to hear when Luke was at the door. The light, excited footfalls halted at the entrance, the floorboards creaked when he shifted his weight forward to knock or open the door.

Instead of the expected movement, there was quiet. Hesitation. With a small gathering of courage Emmy rolled over, facing the door, her bleary eyes finally opening. "Luke," she sighed, "come in."

The boy gently opened the door, quietly stepping in. "Hi," he whispered, holding a platter with a teapot in his hands. "Oh, it's dark in here."

"You can open the curtains," Emmy returned drowsily as she sat up. Her vision whited out, trickling back in as she took a deep breath. "Mm, it's late..." Putting the pillow up against the headrest she sat back, watching Luke open the curtains and the window. The light wasn't particularly pleasant, but she bit it down, inconspicuously lowering her eyes until they adjusted a bit more.

"It's about eleven," Luke smiled at the sun, letting the bright rays wash over him. His hair, the messy curls kept in place with his cap, lit up like a fire. "Did you sleep well?" he turned back to Emmy, pouring a cup of tea.

"As good as it gets," Emmy smiled at him, putting a hand on her temple. The small adhesive bandage was still on, thankfully. "It's nice to finally get to sleep a full night... Those three hour breaks weren't nice."

Luke shook his head, handing her the cup. "Even the Professor got tired of it. He's resting now."

"He is? Well, he had to get up too... to wake me up." All Emmy could imagine was the man 'resting his eyes' on the couch in his office. The thought of him actually going to bed was quite odd- he did 'turn in for the night', but she knew he was awake most of the late hours. She looked into the teacup, watching the liquid slowly settle from swishing to calm.

Luke reached out to keep the cup from tipping and spilling. "Careful!" he chirped, folding his hands over hers. They were smaller, lighter, soft and kind. Her own, weapons, rock-hard, tightened their grip. "Don't let it tip over..."

"I've got it now," Emmy assured the boy, wool quickly stuffing itself into her mind. Sipping her tea she watched Luke water the succulents that were soaking in the sunlight. Angela had given them from her succulent garden, she remembered after some effort. Somehow they had survived so far, despite the professor killing almost any plant that wasn't fossilized... It must have been Luke taking care of them.

With a small sigh and a headache quickly building Emmy sank deeper into the pillows, nuzzling the collar of the orange striped pyjamas. Layton had borrowed her a pair. They were big on her, especially around the waist, but they were soft and comfortable and smelled vaguely of lavender laundry detergent. They made her feel better, somehow.

"Would you like to have breakfast?" Luke asked in a more quiet voice, coming to sit on the bed next to her.

Emmy forced a smile. "I'm not hungry yet, but thanks, Luke." She took a deep breath, letting the air circulate through her body. "Are you staying out of trouble?"

"I've been playing a lot of chess," the boy perked up. "But the Professor always beats me, but I try! It's lots of fun and I like the pieces, I really like the knight, they're fun and can do lots of fun moves!" He tapped his fingers together rapidly, having gone from quiet to a beacon of energy. "I love the one that goes diagonally too!"

Emmy said nothing. The boy's voice was bouncing around in her head like a ball, hitting every wall and making more noise to reflect. The noise hit like she'd been punched in the stomach, surprising her with its intensity. It hurt.

"And the queens, they're so much fun too, they can basically do whatever they like!" Luke's voice seemed to become louder with every word, amplifying the pounding in her head. She slowly lowered her head, trying to hide, unsure from what.

Tears dripped on the blanket. Her stomach turned and twisted, she could feel the colour draining from her face.

Luke stopped talking. Finally blessed quiet. "You look really bad all of a sudden," his voice had returned to a whisper.

"I love that it's making you so happy," Emmy breathed, scrunched into a ball, "but you're also very loud."

With a rustling of hair against fabric, the boy rested his head on her shoulder. "Sorry," he murmured. All was quiet for a while, Emmy slowly regaining some semblance of control, while Luke simply kept her company. Emmy laid back down after who knew how long, stroking Luke's hair. "I'm going to sleep a bit longer," she told him, safe underneath the blankets.

"Can I stay?" the boy laid down beside her, looking intently at her. His eyes appeared to be a bright blue with green in this light, shining with kindness.

"Yeah." Emmy closed her eyes, feeling warm and fluffy. As she drifted off into sleep, she likened the feeling to a young lioness with her little brother from this year's litter.

The lowering spring sun tickled her bare side and shoulders, warming her with its golden rays. Emmy sat cross-legged in the bed, hair down in dark, tousled curls fresh from the shower. Her nightshirt laid forgotten by her side. It should've been a perfect, quiet time.

Her head disagreed. The words on the page seemed to dance and bounce in her mind, skipping out of existence. She had gotten two pages from where she had been in the last hour, getting more and more frustrated all the while.

 _What could she mean by it? It seems to me to shew an abominable sort of conceited independence, a most country town indifference to decorum_. She read once more, trying to imprint the words somewhere, anywhere. Before she knew it she caught herself back at the start. _What could she mean by it?_ Emmy read again. _It seems to me to shew an abominable-_

Her frustration boiled into anger. She threw the book against the wall, flinching unconsciously in preparation for the noise.

It never came.

"Ah, Jane Austen," Layton smiled, proudly holding the book in his hand. "I didn't know you were a Janeite, Emmy." he stepped further into the room, pulling the book closer to his chest. No hat shadowed his face in the evening light, her eyes drawn to his apricot shirt and red sweater vest. He looked warm and welcoming, bathed in orange sunlight and a smile that matched the light with its sparkle and honesty.

"Evening," Emmy returned with unwanted venom in her voice. She turned her back to the window, the sun warming her back. "I am. I really like her works." her voice quieted as her anger faded, replaced by sudden exhaustion.

"So, any reason why you decided to toss my library about?" The question was friendly and curious. The professor sounded honestly interested, not angry or upset at all. "It's a lovely edition, one of my prides." Layton walked to the window side of the bed, reaching over to set the book down on the nightstand. As soon as he turned to do so she noticed hesitation, a slight gap in sound from his movement to the book hitting the wood.

Emmy thought about why he would hesitate for a second before she realised. This was the first time he'd ever seen her back.

"That's lovely," Layton gently sat down beside her, studying the sprawling tattoo on her back. "I never knew you liked tattoos, Emmy."

Somehow his praise made her feel very small, making her curl up in the blankets around her waist. Despite her muscled body and years of combat training, one little comment and she was out. She could feel dark brown eyes studying her back, the sensation bringing the tattoo to her mental eye as well.  
A roaring lioness, claws out and teeth bared, stood proud on a winding wind-blown juniper tree. All along the tree and behind her snapdragons and orchids bloomed, in a variety of pinks and yellows. The colour was gorgeously shaded and brightly highlighted, making it seem like the lioness was roaring her pride at the dawn.

Emmy could practically hear Layton's gears turning, trying to figure out the meaning behind the tattoos. He was knowledgeable in flowers and their meaning, Emmy knew, but he probably couldn't guess all of it. She half expected him to ask, but instead there was quiet, a slowly spreading calm.

"Emmy," Layton's voice was rich and soft, seeming to harmonize with the quiet instead of breaking it. "Let's say there's a kick I want to learn."

Emmy shifted, glancing at him curiously from the side of her eyes.

"Just hypothetically," the professor looked slightly abashed. "But, I want to learn a kick. Let's say it's a mae geri." A forward kick. One she knew by reflex.

"Okay," Emmy hummed back with a bit of effort.

"How long would it take me to learn it?" he asked, looking gently at her.

Emmy scoffed. "You're never done learning. A lifetime, that's for sure. Things like that take time, you can't just rush trying to learn a kick. You need to imbed it, make it your own, make mistakes."

"Wouldn't it be wise to gift that leniency to your own body as well?" Layton suggested, having gotten to the point he wanted to make. "You were seriously injured. It's terribly frustrating when you keep making the same mistake, or when you stagnate, but there's no sense in hammering on the same mistake without new feedback. And that takes time. Learning how to function takes time, and relearning that does as well."

Emmy was very quiet, the sun burning through her like a piece of glass.

"See it as relearning a kick after an injury. You can't just expect everything to go perfect the first day, week, month even. You can keep practicing for hours every day, but the chance to injure yourself further is very great. I understand you want to get back to how you were, and you want to be strong for us. But perhaps it'd be better at a slightly lower pace."

"Is this about me doing my drills this morning?" Emmy croaked, her throat very tight as she listened to him.

"All I saw you do was fall over." Layton didn't mince his words. "You have the time, Emmy. Please, take it."

The following quiet was long, unbroken by either. Emmy swallowed hard, thick tears silently trickling from her eyes into the blanket. For once, she was vulnerable, she was small, and it didn't feel wrong.

"Can I touch you?" Layton asked, kind eyes meeting hers for a moment.

Emmy nodded, shivering as her tears began to flow harder, a floodgate finally opened.

A moment passed. Then, his hand, reaching around for her furthest shoulder. He pulled her close against his side, giving her ample opportunity to lean in. He was warm. His pullover was soft and slightly scratchy against her cheek, smelling of laundry detergent and lavender. As she took a deep breath, books, leather, honey and rosemary also trickled into her nose, along with other welcoming scents she recognized from his home. Time passed quietly for a while as she cried, holding the professor's arm.

Then, peace as everything slowed down. The sun cast its last rays into the room, golden red fading into purple. Emmy slipped out of Layton's hold, smiling at him. She felt empty, like a glass bottle, ready to be filled with all things good.

"Thank you, Professor."

The professor simply smiled.


End file.
